


in screaming color

by piecesofsunlight



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: 5 + 1, Anxiety, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Ransom is a coral reef, canon consistent drug and alcohol use, unapologetic fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-25
Updated: 2016-06-25
Packaged: 2018-07-18 04:43:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7300069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piecesofsunlight/pseuds/piecesofsunlight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Here’s the thing about relationships: they don’t fit into boxes. People like to draw harsh lines, puzzle out rules for what makes a romantic feeling romantic and a platonic feeling platonic, treat body language like an ancient rune that betrays only black and white feelings once you decipher it. Justin Oluransi used to spend a lot of time doing that, too. But you can’t chart your feelings in an Excel spreadsheet. You can’t walk into a relationship with a semester’s worth of notes crammed on both sides of an index card. There is no formula for how to love a person.<br/>But the way you learn to love them is enough. It has to be.</p><p>Or: Five times Ransom thought he was in love with Holster, and one time he didn’t.</p>
            </blockquote>





	in screaming color

**Author's Note:**

> my grand debut back into the world of fic-writing for the first time since probably middle school. a.k.a. there weren't any qpp holsom fics out there so i had to write one myself :-) 
> 
> title from out of the woods by taylor swift!
> 
> \-- 
> 
> EDIT: I wrote this at a time in my life when I was very deeply closeted and called myself ace and my romantic feelings platonic so that I didn't have to face up to being gay. I projected that onto these characters and I absolutely disagree with this headcanon now, and the concept of queerplatonic partnership generally construed. Ransom and Holster are GAY and in LOVE, not platonic love, not vaguely ~~queer uwu~~ ace love, fully romantic sexual gay love. I'm considering whether to delete this fic or write another chapter where they come to terms with their repressed desire for one another, but in the mean time I wanted to leave this note to make it absolutely clear that this narrative I've constructed is regressive and riddled with internalized homophobia.

Justin Oluransi never believed in the concept of soulmates, romantic or otherwise. But he had to admit that something switched on inside of him, standing on the ice with Adam Birkholtz during the first practice of their freshman year. The conversation started like every other cookie-cutter conversation you have in your first few weeks of college - hi, what’s your name, where are you from, oh that’s interesting. Justin hated introductions, hated the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach when he had to explain himself to someone new, but he had met so many people in the past week that the words felt automatic at this point. His fellow d-man looked just as bored as he felt until Shitty skated by.

“Oh shit!” he said, skating a circle around them as he overheard their conversation, “We should call you Ransom and Holster. Sick name for a pair of d-men.”

“Ransom…”

“Holster…”

And Adam, well, Holster, grinned. And Justin grinned too. And some part of the universe clicked into place when they made eye contact. 

He wasn’t even sure what changed, but they fist bumped and laughed and suddenly, inexplicably, they became Ransom and Holster, attached at the hip, so sickeningly compatible that they had to be physically separated at practice sometimes for the sake of the team’s productivity. Some people find their best friend slowly, over months of emotional late-night conversations and inside jokes. And sometimes it catches you by surprise, like when the stranger in front of you tackles you onto the ice and the blue in his eyes suddenly feels more familiar than your own first name. 

  
  


\---

 

Shitty leaned forward, setting his beer down on the table. “Bro. All I’m saying is, we all need to consider the ways in which the institution of heteronormative monogamy affects our own desires when it comes to sex and romance.” He looked at all of them solemnly. “I mean, think about it. Why does everything have to be one or the other? It’s fucked up! Think about the love you can have for your best friend. Can you really call that love platonic?” His eyes lingered over Lardo for a bit too long, watching her as she carefully and expertly rolled their next joint. Ransom caught Holster’s eye and they both smirked.

“I agree,” Lardo said seriously, looking up and reaching for her lighter. “And romance doesn’t have to go hand-in-hand with sex, either. It’s just as nice to fall asleep next to someone you’re into.” She lit the joint, took the first hit, and passed it to Holster.

“I don’t know, dude,” he said, coughing a little. “It’s nice, but you can’t really compare it. Sex is good in a whole other way.”

Ransom shrugged, taking the joint from Holster and dangling it between his fingers for a moment while he collected his thoughts. “I agree with Lardo. Sex feels good, I guess, in a body way, but I always feel kind of mentally disconnected. It doesn’t really get me like the emotional stuff does.”

Shitty stared at him pensively while he took his hit. “Rans, have you ever thought that you might be asexual?”

Ransom passed the joint and frowned. The three of them were staring at him expectantly, and he felt his stomach starting to knot up at the prospect of having to explain himself, to have an answer. “Um,” he stumbled. “I don’t--I’ve had sex before, though? Like, a bunch? And it’s not bad, it just isn’t... I just don’t mind it.”

“A rousing endorsement,” Holster grinned.

Shitty was tapping away on his phone excitedly, joint dangling precariously from his left hand. “Look, I’m going to send you this link, it explains the whole thing. Ace theory is really cool, actually. It’s like, a spectrum.”

Lardo smiled dryly. “Shitty, you say everything is a spectrum.”

“It’s true!” he protested, throwing his phone down on the couch and running his free hand through his hair. Ransom felt his phone vibrate a moment later. “This is what I’m saying! Life is more complicated than that! Humanity is fucking beautiful and complex, we don’t have the words to fully describe our intellectual and emotional experience.”

Lardo laughed. “Alright, don’t get too philosophical on me, Shits. Are you going to pass that or let it burn a hole in the couch again?”

  
  


When Holster walked into their room later that night, Ransom was laying in bed with his laptop, the soft glow illuminating his face.

“Reading that thing Shitty sent you earlier?” Holster asked, gently, but still prying.

“Way past that. Seventeen pages into a forum on grey-asexuality right now.”

Holster crossed the room and stood on his tip toes, craning his neck to get a glimpse of Ransom’s screen. “So you think it fits for you?”

“Yeah,” Ransom said quietly, still scrolling, eyes scanning the comments. “I think so. I guess because I never--well, I never hated sex, but I never really loved it, either. It’s just something that happens for me, not something I crave. I didn’t know there was a word for that.”

“‘Swawsome,” Holster said, ducking back down into his bunk. After a few minutes of silence, he popped back up again. “Hey, send me that link.”

Ransom looked over at him, confused. “You’re not ace, though. I mean, it doesn’t seem like it.”

Holster nudged his shoulder. “Dude, I know. We all know I’m bi as hell. You think I don’t want to figure out what makes my best bro tick, though?” 

Ransom felt something swell in his chest as he took in Holster’s expectant eyes and genuine, goofy smile. “Thanks, bro,” he said. “Yeah, I’ll send it to you.”

“Cool,” said Holster. He disappeared back to his bunk below. “G’night, Rans.”

“Night.” Ransom shut his laptop and leaned his head back on the pillow. It felt good to be understood by a bunch of strangers on the internet, but it felt way, way better to be understood by your best friend.

  
  


\---

  
  


“Wait, so that’s your aunt?”

Ransom glanced across the endless dining room table to where Holster was pointing. “Oh, that’s my dad’s half-sister’s husband’s cousin… it’s easier to call everyone Auntie.”

Holster nodded, squinting around the room as he took his glasses off to clean them. “And your cousin in the blue dress… her name is… Monica?”

“Monique.” Ransom smiled, spooning an impressive pile of rice onto his place.

“Damn,” said Holster. “I was close.”

“Bro, I don’t expect you to remember everyone’s name. My dad’s side of the family pops out kids so fast sometimes  _ I  _ don’t even remember their names.”

Holster shook his head, leaning across Ransom to grab another kebab. “No, it’s important! Besides, I always wish I had a big family. I bet with this many cousins, at least one of them has read Harry Potter, unlike  _ some  _ people.”

“Damn, Holtzy, when are you going to stop riding my ass for not caring about things that don’t exist? It’s not like magic is real.”

Holster glared at him and dramatically shifted his seat one inch to the right, as far away from Ransom as he could go without encroaching on another curly-haired cousin’s space. “I’m not talking to you until you take that back.”

 

Angela nudged Ransom, nodding across the room to where Holster was engaged in an animated discussion about Quidditch with Ransom’s twelve-year-old niece. “Your friend is cute.”

“Yeah, I know.” Ransom side-eyed her. “Why?”

“So, are you two, like… together?”

“No,” Ransom laughed, but something in the pit of his stomach twisted when he said it. It felt like a lie, somehow. “We’re just best friends, but like, more intense.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s what dating is,” she smirked.

“Don’t chirp me, sis,” he protested.

“I don’t even know what that means.”

The thing is, was she really wrong?

  
  


\---

  
  


The last Epikegster of the year was in full swing, and if the tub juice was strong before, it was nothing compared to tonight. Shitty barrelled into the living room and trapped Ransom and Holster in a crushing group hug, pressing every inch of his drunk, naked-except-for-some-frankly-too-small-boxer-briefs body into them. “Rans, Holtz, I love you guys. I know the team will be in good hands with you as captains.”

Ransom laughed. “Bro, are you crying?”

Shitty leaned back dramatically, sniffling. “No! And masculinity is a prison, anyway!”

Lardo appeared suddenly out of the crowd and grabbed Shitty’s wrist. “Come on Shits, let’s go crush Dex and Nursey at pong. Think of our legacy.”

Shitty complied, letting Lardo drag him back through the crowd. Holster smirked at Ransom. “Yeah, Rans, masculinity is a prison, anyway. Let the man cry.”

“Shh,” Ransom laughed, tripping slightly and leaning against Holster for balance. He couldn’t remember how much tub juice he drank, but he had watched Shitty dump at least a cup or two of Everclear in the mix when they made it earlier, so he knew it was trouble no matter what.

“You good?” Holster asked, steadying Ransom with a hand on his forearm. His expression fell somewhere halfway between a chirp and genuine concern, but his voice gave away his own similar level of intoxication.

“Yeah, bro, are you good?” Ransom asked, trying to find the wall behind him to lean against, but stumbling back through the doorway into the hall instead. Holster tried to catch him but ended up tripping over his own feet as well. He knocked into Ransom and they both ended up on the ground, cursing and laughing.

The party was spinning around them, but when Ransom found Holster’s face inches from his own, everything seemed to stop. His breath caught in his throat. Holster stared back at him with the same intensity through bleary blue eyes, with that same endearing, ridiculous grin and flushed cheeks. Ransom wasn’t sure how long they laid there, just staring at each other: thirty seconds? Two minutes? Their gaze broke only when a pair of girls tripped over them on their way to the bathroom. 

“Sorry, ladies,” Holster apologized, almost losing his balance again as he attempted to stand up. “I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

They allowed him to help them up, although he almost fell over again in the process, and Ransom felt a twinge of something like jealousy as one of them kissed Holster on the cheek before they hurried down the hall. He pushed himself to his feet and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes. He had no reason to feel jealous. What Holster did with girls or boys or anyone for that matter didn’t bother him, really. It was the thought that anyone could work their way into Holster’s heart, that anyone could have the kind of connection Ransom had with him--that’s what made him jealous.

“You good?”

Holster’s voice, soft and concerned, rocked Ransom out of his mental downward spiral. When he opened his eyes, his best friend was there in front of him, inches away. Ransom felt his heart speed up and wasn’t sure why. It’s not like he and Holster didn’t get into each other’s personal space all the time anyway, and Holster was always especially cuddly when he was drunk. But something felt different. Ransom’s stomach twisted itself into a knot. He took a deep breath.

“Not feeling great. I’m going to go up to the attic, I think.”

Holster nodded. “I’ll come with you.”

Ransom shook his head, pushing past Holster and heading up the stairs. “Nah, bro. You stay and have fun, it’s the last kegster of the year. I don’t need company if I’m gonna spew.”

Holster was right behind him. “But Ransy, who will hold your hair back?”

Ransom laughed, turning around and checking Holster lightly once they got to the top of the stairs. “Yeah, okay, whatever.”

The sounds of the party were muffled in the attic, but the laughter and the music floated in with the warm spring air through the open window. Ransom plopped down on the edge of the bottom bunk. Holster rummaged through his mini fridge and cracked open a can of beer.

“God, how can you want to drink even more right now?” Ransom asked, but away from the noise and the crowds, he didn’t feel as wasted himself, either.

Holster shrugged. “It’s something to do while I keep your sorry ass company,” he chirped.

Ransom frowned. “I told you not to come with me.”

Holster kicked off his flip flops and sat down on the bed next to Ransom. “Bro, I’m joking. I don’t want to be down there without you.”

Ransom turned to his right to find Holster’s face closer than he expected. He swallowed. Holster’s eyes were hypnotizing and they were staring at him like a person might stare at a fresh-baked pie Bitty just pulled out of the oven, or the way girls stared at Holster all the time and the words fell from his lips before he could even think--

“Can I kiss you?”

Holster grinned so hard he looked like he might laugh. “Yes,” he breathed, and then their mouths were crashing together, hard and sudden at first but soft a moment later, and neither of them pulled away. Holster’s lips were a little chapped but perfect, and one of his hands found its way to Ransom’s jawline, cupping his face and pulling him closer.

“Why haven’t we done this before?” Ransom said into Holster’s mouth, and felt his best friend’s lips turn upwards in a smile in response. Holster wrapped his arms around Ransom’s torso and pulled him closer, halfway onto his lap. His hands were warm and strong on Ransom’s back, brushing along bare skin where his shirt had ridden up. Holster pressed intoxicating kisses into the corner of Ransom’s jaw, down his neck and along his collarbone, when he suddenly stopped.

“What’s wrong?” Ransom asked as Holster pulled back to look at him.

“You’re ace. Are you sure this is okay? Was that too much?” Holster’s face was warped in concern, his eyes searching Ransom anxiously for a response.

Ransom smiled and leaned his forehead against Holster’s. “Kissing is fine. Great, actually.” He felt almost sheepish as he tucked his head into Holster’s shoulder, brushing his lips across his skin.

Holster ran his hand up Ransom’s back. “Are you sure it’s not because you’re drunk? I don’t want to take advantage.”

Ransom smiled sleepily into Holster’s neck. “I’m sure. But how about you ask me again in the morning.” He bolted upright suddenly, stomach twisting. “Unless you don’t--if this is a one-time thing--”

Holster cupped Ransom’s face in his hands. “Rans, no way. I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while, I just thought you’d never--”

“Me either.” Ransom felt his body relax as the anxiety fizzled away. “But it feels right. You’re my best friend.”

“Yeah,” Holster smiled, kissing Ransom’s forehead. “Because this is what best friends do, right?”

“Don’t make me get Shitty up here to lecture you on the beautiful complexity of human relationships.”

Holster laughed, tackling Ransom flat onto the mattress and propping himself up on his elbows above him. “Yeah, okay. Well, I love our beautifully complex human relationship.” His brow furrowed. “So. Does this mean I get to kiss you in the morning, if I want?”

Ransom grinned. “If you want.”

“What about after we win a game, as a celly?”

“I don’t think anyone would be surprised.”

“What about when you’re cramming for your orgo final next week? And the sun in the library hits you just right and you look like an angel?”

Ransom rolled his eyes at Holster’s goofy grin. “God, you’re a sap.” He pulled Holster down to kiss him. “Don’t go falling in love with me, Holtzy. But you can kiss me anytime.”

Holster smiled, burying his head in Ransom’s neck. “I’m always a little in love with you, Rans.”

Ransom ran his fingers through Holster’s hair. It felt right, to have him so close, to not pretend like there wasn’t something more between them, whatever they wanted to call it. He closed his eyes and focused on Holster’s heartbeat drumming against his hand. “Yeah,” he said. “Me too.”

They fell asleep that way in Holster’s bed, limbs tangled and fingers woven together. 

  
  


\---

  
  


“Holster, don’t think I don’t see you sneaking bites of the pie dough over there.” Bitty pointed his spatula threateningly across the room and Holster froze with a tiny ball of dough halfway to his mouth. “Y’all forget I have eyes in the back of my head and I  _ will _ revoke your pie privileges if you don’t behave.”

Ransom laughed. “Gross, dude. Isn’t that just like, flour and butter, anyway?”

Holster shrugged, chewing. “Don’t judge me. It’s good.”

“It doesn’t even have sugar!”

“It’s good!”

“You’re disgusting.” 

“I’m with Ransom here,” BItty said, pulling one of his many rolling pins out of the drawer. “But you can have the scraps once I’m finished with the lattice, if you want.”

Holster grinned, dancing across the kitchen in celebration with the disjointed, over-confident movements of a man who was destined to become the epitome of the suburban white dad stereotype some day. Ransom rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair and scrolling through notifications on his phone as Holster hip checked Bitty a little too hard and sent a half cup of flour flying across the kitchen. 

The ensuing squabble was lost completely on Ransom as a new email popped up on his phone. 

_Harvard University Office of Admissions_ _  
_ **_Congratulations!_** _\- Dear Mr. Oluransi, I am delighted to inform you that the Committee on Admissions has adm…_

Ransom’s mouth went dry. He didn’t know how long he sat there, frozen with his phone in hand, but by the time he exhaled his screen had gone black again. Holster popped into his field of view, flour smeared across his forehead, brow furrowed.

“Rans? You good?”

Ransom took a shaky breath, turning his head towards Holster. “I…”

“Hey, it’s alright.” Holster backed off by a foot or two, sitting down at the corner of the table. “Just breathe with me.”

Ransom nodded wordlessly, but the panic that had settled in his throat was overwhelming in a positive way, for once. He inhaled sharply, and then, “I got in.”

Holster frowned, shifting over a bit closer. “What?”

“Harvard. I got into med school, Holtz.”

Two seconds of suffocating silence, and then screaming. Holster jumped out of his chair, pulling Ransom up into a bone-crushing hug. The kitchen was suddenly full of their teammates, poking their heads in from the living room to assess the commotion and getting swept up in the celebration. Everything was a blur, a happy blur, and the tightness in Ransom’s chest felt like it might make him float away rather than melt into the floorboards. Bitty said something about having to make a few more pies for the occasion, and somehow Lardo already had Shitty on the phone yelling at the top of his lungs, and Holster was in full-on brag mode, so proud of how  _ his best friend _ got into the  _ top med school  _ in the  _ country _ can you  _ believe it _ \--

It was a Tuesday afternoon two weeks before finals, but Nursey broke out a 30-rack from the fridge downstairs while Holster put on his favorite summer playlist and the Haus became a full blown day party within twenty minutes. Bitty took Chowder with him to the store to get more butter and peaches for a honey-peach pie. Ransom tried to protest, but Holster handed him a beer and pushed him out into the backyard.

“Bro. It’s not every day that you get accepted to Harvard. Live a little.”

  
  


Ransom settled down into the inflatable pool next to Holster. “So, I guess we should start apartment hunting in Boston.”

Holster looked up, propping his sunglasses up on the top of his head. “We?”

Ransom shrugged. “Well, you’re pretty confident about getting that job, right? Maybe we can find a place near Shitty, that would be chill.”

Holster stared at him. “You still want to live with me after college?”

Ransom felt the heat climbing up his neck. “Uh, I didn’t--I just assumed…” He felt suddenly very exposed, vulnerable, stomach dropping like lead. “Do… do you not?”

Holster grinned, suddenly, and tackled Ransom onto his side, splashing water everywhere. Ransom dropped his beer into the pool in surprise and heard Dex groan loudly from ten feet away (“Goddammit you guys, do you know how long it took to fill that pool up with our shitty hose?”).

“Dude, what the fuck,” Ransom laughed, squinting up at Holster in the blinding late afternoon sunlight. 

“I’m so fucking happy,” Holster said. The sunlight formed a halo around his messy blonde hair and Ransom found himself wishing he could live in that moment forever. “I thought you would--you and March--you know, I didn’t want to assume--”

Ransom shook his head. “March is cool, I’m really into her. But you’ll always be my number one.”

Holster grinned. “Lucky me.”

“Dude, I can’t believe you ever doubted that,” said Ransom. “Can I kiss you?”

“Brah. Yes.” Holster leaned down and slipped on the wet grass, ending up with his full body weight on top of Ransom, sloshing more water out of the pool as they kissed.

“Come on, guys, get a room,” Nursey chirped as they pulled apart.

“Excuse me, my best friend just got into  _ Harvard _ , I think I can kiss him in public if I want to,” Holster protested, lifting himself up off the ground, sticky with beer and covered in wet grass.

“You’re a hot fucking mess,” Ransom laughed, standing up and wringing water out of his tank top. 

Holster plucked his sunglasses off the ground, put them on top of his head, and pushed his regular glasses back onto the bridge of his nose. “Emphasis on the hot,” he said, waving finger guns in Ransom’s direction.

Ransom snorted. “No game whatsoever.” He grabbed two towels off the porch railing and tossed one to Holster, who was caught completely off guard and managed to drop the towel directly into the pool. “Bruh.”

Holster threw up his arms. “What did you expect?”

Ransom rolled his eyes. “Better reflexes?”

“Off the ice?” Holster grinned. “It’s like you don’t even know me.” 

Ransom laughed, draping the second towel over Holster’s shoulders. “Love you, man,” he said, with a little more tenderness than he meant to convey.

Holster smiled. “I love you too.”

  
  


\---

  
  


It was almost six when Ransom heard the lock click and Holster swung the door open, marching into the apartment with the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up and his tie already undone. “Damn, it is hot outside. Nobody warned me that this career path would include wearing a suit in the summer.”

Ransom grinned. “Besides the crippling debt, it’s pretty sweet to get to be a student for like ten years.” He had peeled off his shirt as soon as he got home from class, cranked the AC, and was lounging in his boxers on the couch with his laptop in front of him, aggressively procrastinating. “Did you get out of work late? I was just about to text you.”

“Well.” Holster placed his bag carefully down on the kitchen table, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “It was just  _ so  _ hot outside, and I just so  _ happened  _ to notice that the animal shelter around the corner had AC, and I just thought I would maybe pop in for a bit--”

“Dude, no. You did not go visit that dog again.” He tried his best to sound annoyed, but the goofy grin on Holster’s face was already melting his resolve.

“She’s just… the purest, most angelic, beautiful dog I’ve ever--”

“She’s literally a demon!” Ransom protested. “I don’t think it’s even possible for a dog that small to be that angry!”

“I love her.”

“Please, any other dog.”

Holster plopped down on the couch, clasping his hands together and leaning on Ransom’s shoulder. “If we don’t adopt her soon, someone else might!”

“Holtzy. No one else is going to adopt that dog.”

“Okay, so, that’s why we have to!” He nuzzled his face into Ransom’s neck, his stubble rough against Ransom’s skin. “Please?”

Ransom met Holster’s eyes, giant and blue and pleading, and caved. “God, fine. Maybe you’ll love it so much it’ll stop hating everything.”

“YES!” Holster grinned, grabbing Ransom and peppering his face with excited, sloppy kisses. “Bro, we’re going to be the best dog parents the world has ever seen.”

Ransom laughed, reaching over and mussing up Holster’s hair. “Dude, we’re so married.”

“Full homo,” Holster whispered, grinning stupidly. “Oh! By the way!” He jumped up, grabbed his laptop out of his bag, and settled back onto the couch. “I was reading this thing on my lunch break that I thought you might like.”

“Oh yeah?” Ransom peered over his shoulder as the page loaded.

“Yeah. Apparently there’s a word for how married we are. It’s called queerplatonic?” Holster tilted the screen in Ransom’s direction.

“Bro. That’s so cool,” Ransom said after skimming the article. “Queerplatonic life partners. Huh.”

“Ya know. When you want to just live with your best bro and be his person for the rest of your life.”

Ransom grinned. “You’re such a fucking sap.”

Holster leaned his head against Ransom’s chest, settling into his arms. “Don’t pretend you don’t love it.”

Ransom ran his fingers through Holster’s hair and smiled. The fan whirred in the background, filling the comfortable silence with static. The hot July sunlight filtered in through the blinds, casting shadows and slats of golden light across the apartment. He thought about the way they cried at graduation, about Holster’s unconditional love for the most evil dog in the world, about waking up thirty years in the future with this ridiculous tall blonde boy by his side. “You’re right,” he said quietly, a warm glow settling in his chest. “I do.”


End file.
